


Children of the Wild Ones

by baichan



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, BAMF Stiles, Banshee Lydia Martin, Camp Half-Blood, Demigods, Derek Has Feelings, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Multi, Not actually congruent with any Percy Jackson canon btw, even though not really cause theres no wolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:19:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baichan/pseuds/baichan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is an unclaimed. Derek is the son of Ares who worries the boy he's slightly obsessed with will end up being his sibling. Scott thinks his half-blood brother wants to kill him and Allison is Apollo's daughter so obviously the sun sets on her shining face. Oh, and the gods of Olympus can't keep it in their pants, but you already knew that, right? That PJaO Camp Half-Blood AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Derek Hale is a thing of beauty.

Grace exudes from every pore lining his skin as he twirls and slices, bronze swords an extension of his muscular arms. Veins stood out along with black hair on contrastingly pale skin as sweat dribbled down in rivulets.

Stiles was enraptured.

That straw dummy never stood a chance.

His friend Allison elbowed him, a playful smile on her face, "So..."

Stiles flushed and threw a dagger into his target, it didn't hit center and Stiles bit down a frustrated curse as he heard someone snicker.

"So?" He snapped at her as he marched over to get the knife.

Allison rolled her eyes, "Derek."

"Derek what?" Stiles grit out.

"You _like_ him." She drawls out, notching her bow and hitting the target perfectly.

Apollo better be fucking proud.

"Ya? And he's the prized son of Ares and I'm the clumsy unclaimed son of some minor diety."

Allison rolled her eyes, "Ya right. You guided me and Scott and a _banshee_ here. I totally bet on Hermes."

Stiles rolls his eyes, waves of irritation rolling off of him, "So I can just stay in the same cabin?"

"We'll you already know everybody there -"

"Uh-uh, sometimes I swear Hermes had more kids than Aphrodite."

"Athena?"

Stiles snorts, "Lydia would disagree."

"Lydia puts Athena's kids to shame on a daily bases."

Stiles smiles at that, "True."

His eyes can't help but linger back to where Derek and Scott are now setting up to fight with wooden swords.

Derek's grin is feral and excited, the kind wolves get right before they rip out someone's throat. Scott looked like he was bracing himself.

Scott was a good fighter because unlike the other Ares kids, he focused on strengths _other_ than strength. Like his speed and agility.

Derek's eyes seemed to look over at him and Allison but he probably just got sweat in his eyes or was looking at the gaggle of Aphrodite kids that watched him when they weren't practicing themselves.

His grin got just a little toothier and a little bit more blood thirsty.

Then he went in for the (hypothetical) kill.

Scott never stood a chance.

 

"I think Derek's trying to kill me." Scott said as they walked out of the training arena.

Stiles shrugged, "He kinda always has a serial killer look on his face."

Scott nodded absently and smiled as Allison came over, her hair falling out of her braid and her face red and sweaty.

It's unfair how fabulous she can look without having to _try._

Scott's dazed happy face is testimony to that.

"Derek Hale? The man Stiles is in _love_ with?" She coos quietly.

That fabulous bitch.

Stiles squawks unattractively and Scott has this gobsmacked look on his face as his attention snaps back to him.

"Wait! What?! Bu -"

Stiles practically tackles his face with his hand (i.e. slaps him really hard and satisfyingly), "Sh! Your not allowed to shout it!" He hisses.

Scott's eyes got wider but Stiles could feel the smile under his hand and the look of it was worse when he pulled it away.

Traitors. All of them.

He glanced over at Derek, lounging with a towel around his neck and a water bottle in his hand.

He was sweaty and looked like a good reason for any woman to have an affair. Stiles completely understood Aphrodite's cheating if Ares had looked like _that._

 

What Stiles missed was the lingering eyes on him. The ones that followed him and the way he picked after Scott as he forgot everything in wake of Allison's backside.

A wake Stiles was left drifting on while Scott left him behind to follow the boat like a professional water skier.

Derek felt like _growling._ It wasn't often you found someone you could trust so much to be defenseless around and be loyal to you unconditionally. It was rare and Scott was just throwing it away.

Derek narrowed his eyes.

He just wanted _someone_ to be like that for him. _He_ wouldn't waste it.

_Ever._

 

On his little bunk, that he secured after three years in the Hermes cabin as unclaimed, Stiles looked through the photo album of his mom.

It was almost his birthday and he's hoping, _praying_ like always that he'll be claimed.

And at the same time secretly wishing he won't be.

He traces his mom's face, her hair a beautiful ginger and her eyes a bright brilliant green. She's holding onto him, him with his brown hair and brown eyes, arms wrapped around him like he'll float away into the distance. His father stares at them like they're the most precious things he's ever seen and like he'sscared they'll unravel like old sweaters and leave him with nothing left but the string to pick up.

He notes absently his father's blue eyes and sun weathered blond hair and he wonder how he never noticed sooner that it was genetically impossible for him to be the biological son of both of them.

He wonders why he had to wait for the monsters to find out.


	2. Chapter 2

Jackson Whittemore is an ass. A beautiful ass and probably one of the best examples of an Aphrodite child.

But still - an ass.

His only redeeming quality in Stiles' eyes was the fact that he loved Lydia like a plant loves the sun. It was probably worth more than his looks or his fighting skills or anything he could possibly have or do in Stiles' eyes.

Not that anyone cared what Stiles saw, really, but you know. It's nice to dream.

"Still unclaimed Stilinski?" Jackson called from behind him.

Lydia, a banshee who refused to wear the camp shirt like the _rest_ of the campers, (claiming she was a creature, not a silly demigod) stood next to him with her nail file in hand.

Lydia put to shame the children of Aphrodite and Athena with every move she makes and every word she says. She might as well have been a minor deity - which Stiles will actually have to look into the lore of the banshees more, because well, you never know.

Right now she's standing indifferently to the side. Probably amused by the bloodshed, mainly his, that's about to happen.

And then she says, "Not for long." Like it's the most natural response to give in her musical voice.

She pauses filing her nails and looks up to see their stunned faces.

"What? Is there something on my face?"

"You - you said... Lydia, you said not for long. As in, I won't be _unclaimed_ for long?"

Lydia tilts her head, her eyebrows furrowed as she focuses, "Yes... I can feel her focus on you." She says blearily, voice a bit otherworldly.

_Her_. He had never really had a chance to ask which side his godliness had come from. He hadn't really wanted to know either.

Knowing is a sinking feeling in his gut, even though he had assumed the godliness was from his mother's side. There aren't any pictures of his mother pregnant.

Stiles nodded dumbly and turns to walk to where Allison and Scott are standing and chatting before they have to separate. Allison, to music practice with the rest of Apollo children and Scott, with him to archery.

It wouldn't be a pretty sight.

He stumbled over to them, dazed from the revelation that Lydia gave him.

He falls into someone and he looks to see Derek, son of Ares, looking at him, eyebrows of death furrowed.

Sometimes Stiles wonders if maybe he isn't one of Hades' children, but then Derek will pick up a sword and they'll be no doubt.

Stiles blinks rapidly and sways, his entire world feels like its imploding in on itself. The steady familiar ground of being unclaimed, of belonging without _actually_ fitting in with a specific grid was being ripped out from under him.

"What's wrong with you?"

Stiles blinks again, and then one more time for good measure before blushing and backing away. Or trying to anyway, Derek's hands grip his arms tightly and what once was a steady hand and is now a trap.

Stiles tries to shake him off more frantically and Derek loosens his grip, turning his death glare to Jackson. Which, Stiles would take the time to enjoy more except for the fact that _he's going to find out who his real mother is._

So instead he mumbles something unintelligible and vague, before collecting himself and walking over to Scott.

Scott's back is turned to him so he tries to act like nothing's wrong and when Scott asks, he says he's fine.

 

Derek Hale glares the sharpest hypothetical celestial bronze daggers at Jackson Whittemore. He's not sure what he's said or done, but if it's up to him, he's going to get a beating.

"What did you _say?"_ It's not a question it's a demand.

Derek towers over one of Aphrodite's love children, pushing every ounce of Ares that runs through his veins to look intimidating.

He can practically feel his eyes burning red.

Jackson tries to back up but's merely pushed out of the way by Lydia. The banshee.

Oh great.

He practically growls at her and her too charming smile and too sparkling eyes.

"I had a premonition. He'll be claimed soon."

Derek's mouth drops and he backs off, eyes trailing like a lost puppy after the boy.

Derek Hale has always secretly feared the day Stiles was chosen. It's one of the reasons he had stayed away for so long. Even when it was apparent that Stiles wasn't a fighter.

It would crush him if Stiles was a child of Ares.

"His Mother will claim him soon." She says.

Mother. The weight of the world lifts off of his shoulders and Derek quickly follows Scott and Stiles to archery practice.

 

He's distracted by the boy and keeps missing the target, being only marginally better than Stiles himself at archery.

Derek wants to laugh everytime Stiles hits Scott. That's why he's not allowed to have anything but the blunt arrows.

"Your usually pretty good at this." His friend notes, notching another arrow.

Derek looks at him and shrugs. Isaac, like most Hermes children has an elfish look and is pretty much skilled at everything. He also happens to have a bunk close to Stiles in the cabin that accepts wayward travelers.

Isaac quirks his mouth, "The unclaimed one? Really?"

Derek scowls at him and shoots another arrow that actually hits the target however half-assed.

He hates archery anyway.

Isaac laughs and hits a seven on the target. Derek scowls at him more, "Lydia said 'not for long'."

"What?" Isaac snaps at him, " _Lydia?_ The banshee?"

He drops his bow and Derek would have snapped back at him to keep quiet except for the fact that he had hissed the words too quietly to be mad at him.

Derek just nods instead.

Isaac takes a sharp intake of breath, "If a banshee foretold it than that _means_ something, Derek."

"Like what?" He demands, "She could just be tuned into him. He did guide her here safely, she owes him a life debt."

Isaac tilts his head to look at Stiles under his half-lidded eyes, "I suppose." He says and then blinks and adds, "I guess we'll see won't we?"

Derek doesn't look at him.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles was heading towards where the entire camp would sing songs with the children of Apollo every night when a hand shot out and pulled him away from the stream of demigods.

"Hey wait -!" He started shouting before someone shushed him.

It was Derek Hale, son of Ares. Stiles eyes widened in surprise.

From what Stiles could see in the dimming light Derek looked almost tender. Vulnerable.

"It's your birthday tomorrow, right?" He asks, voice soft and quiet.

"Uh, yeah."

Derek gives him a smile, "I want to show you something."

His grip moves and alters so that their hands are intertwined and he squeezes then lets go. Stiles flushes a brilliant red and tries to speak but words fail and he just splutters.

Derek meanwhile was working to hide his knowing grin and his own flustered face by ducking his head and marching forward.

Stiles ran after him.

 

He was starting to rethink this whole following hot serial killer look alikes into the woods, because they weren't stopping and Derek wasn't speaking and _okay -_ he was kind of freaked out.

"Uh, hey -"

"Sh, we're almost there."

Derek turns and in the moonlight that peeks through the trees makes his teeth glow a chilling white and Stiles feels like a squirrel trapped in the paws of a cat. Then Derek grabs his hand and his smile relaxes into a tender _happiness._

Stiles brightens and smiles back. Smiles at the tenderness, at the warmth of his hand, and the general beauty of the person in front of him.

Then the trees break suddenly into a small clearinr and above them the night sky _explodes_ with stars.

"Oh..." Stiles sighed, his taken from him by the beautiful sight.

He looks over to see Derek staring at him. His face lit up and shining and Stiles can't help smile back at him.

His eyes glitter with the reflection of the stars and Stiles can't stop staring at them, they looked like he could see through the stretch of bright lights to his soul.

Stiles shivers.

Derek breaks the eye contact, "Uh, are you cold?" He's looking down and Stiles follows with his own eyes to see a blanket spread out on the ground.

Stiles flushes and his jaw drops as he tries to make his _thoughts_ work and Derek looks at him for a second before it clicks.

He looks away pointedly, trying to hide a blush and was he _pouting?_

"I didn't mean it like _that_ ," he says tersely, "It's just - if you're cold. Or something."

Stiles almost wants to giggle (hysterically of course) but refrains from doing so and instead sits and leans back so he can see the stars. After a second of him shifting Derek sits down too.

In relative silence they just sit together, both being too awkward to actually lay down when suddenly -

Stiles hears it.

_The twang of a bow; the barking of a dog. An arrow hitting its target and the sound of death. Waves crash under the feet of a man and adventures ring out in honor and blood and -_

"Stiles?"

Stiles gasps and blinks. He opens his eyes to find himself looking at Derek.

His brain is buzzing and blank. Thoughts moving too fast and unintelligible like television static.

"Stiles?" Derek asks again.

And then suddenly everything clears.

"Oh - I - I don't." Stiles takes a deep breath as he stands, "I have to go."

Derek furrows his brows and looks away, nodding.

Stiles reaches out impulsively and then pulls it back when Derek glares at him, "I - I'm sorry, it's just."

He looks up at the sky and he looses focus for a second before his attention snaps back.

Derek staring him down, eyes sad and steady like a half-open door.

"It's okay," he says.

And Stiles turns and stumbles out into the dark woods.

 

Orion. His entire life - birth to death - ringing out in his mind. Him walking on the waves, Sirius, his dog. The scorpion who will never share the sky with him.

He knew it - heard it - all. It was just _there_ and he could see it. He could hear it between the stars that made the constellation.

Orion's legacy.

His hands are shaking and he takes a deep breath. He must have just been hallucinating or he fell asleep and it was a dream born of stargazing and too many mythology lessons.

Maybe he just needed more sleep.

 

Derek wasn't sure what had happened. One minute they were sprawled out enjoying the stars and (hopefully) each other's presence when Stiles had just - frozen.

His whole body had been stiff and his eyes were focused on the sky like he was holding it up with his eyes.

His eyes. They had been so strange. The usual solid pool of amber had seemed to blend into a green and gold flickered like candles being lit and blown out in a dark abyss. It had been eerie and Derek would never admit to the chills rolling down his back.

What had hurt though was the lack of explanation, but that he could accept.

It wasn't like Stiles owed _him_ anything.


	4. Chapter 4

_That night Stiles dreams of his parents. They're smiling at him, his father's face sun worn and his mother's pale and haloed by her beautiful ginger hair._

_Their voices sound warped like they're trying to talk under water._

_"Stil -"_

_"We lo -"_

_"- orry hon -"_

_"- iss you."_

_They reach out but when their hands touch him, the bright hue of the dream darkens to where he can see the truth._

_Their bodies are mangled and dried blood sticks to rotting flesh._

_He tries to call out for help but it devolves into pain as their touch burns._

_It's all his fault._

 

He wakes and feels hollow. His body is numb and he stares blankly at the ceiling of the Hermes cabin.

He can't move and his mind races as he comes more to awarness. His heart starts beating fast and he can feel his lungs trying to constrict and expand too quickly. He closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing, on the fact he can control that. Then he can flex his arm muscles and then his toes and fingers bend to his will.

He sighs when he can finally sit up.

Stiles had been well on his way to a panic attack. Not too unusual around here although less common than nightmares.

He crawls out of bed and makes it to the door with minimal bumping and toe stubbing. He's glad his bunk is so close to the door.

The moon shines brightly above him and the the brightest stars around it. The lunar mass is past it's zenith and the sky is so close to accepting dawn.

 _The moon_.

He thinks of Artemis and how it's her throne. He thinks of Allison's father Apollo and his chariot. He thinks of the stars.

It's strange but they look different now. Groupings instead of splatterings of lights.

 _No_... He can _see_ the constallations. They're all mapped out in his head like roads, each one with a story that he can read with the ease of a billboard if he just _looks._

_Below Sirius is Puppis, Vela, and Carinas. The different parts of the ship Argo that Jason sailed to find the Golden Fleece. Above Orion is Gemini where brothers Castor and Polydeuces had taken their last stand after -_

Suddenly the stars are hidden and he feels lost. The constellations are closed to him and he sees nothing but the brightening sky and last edge of the moon.

The sun is rising.

 

Derek watches Stiles all day. The boy seems absent. He barely even tries during archery - not that anyone calls him out on it because honestly, Stiles an injury away from being taking out of the course all together - and almost hits Allison with a throwing knife.

With a _throwing knife._ Stiles could probably beat Derek with throwing knives on a good day but now he's just tossing them and letting them fall where they may.

Which is a horrible idea.

Isaac tells him as they take their turn to help pick strawberries after lunch that Stiles was gone when he woke up that morning.

Derek is worried.

 

Stiles is lost.

He tells Scott at archery practice about being able to read the stars and speaks to Allison about goddesses of the night.

"Dude." Scott says, "That's... Wow."

Really, thanks Scott.

And Allison just shrugs, "It depends, anything specific?"

Stiles shrugs back at her not wanting to go into details.

 

By the free period before dinner, Stiles seems to have mostly snapped out of it. He laughs and smiles with his usual freedom when Scott sings an out of key happy birthday and presents him with a, well, present.

It's a dagger, surprise not surprise. It's something Stiles has excelled at, the only weapon he does well with actually, and Derek knows that this lifestyle can be all consuming. As an Ares child he feels the need for battle and blood. Fighting and training _easily_ takes precedence in his life. It's just part of his nature as the half blood son of the war god.

His own gift to the boy is under his bunk in a small chest with wolves. It's charred on the side and sometimes, when he has a moment alone he'll brush his hand across the carvings and lightly scrape his nails across the burnt wood.

He watches Stiles parody that with the dagger. He knows his brother had Erica do whatever is carved in the metal. She's amazing with the more delicate workings of craftsmanship like engraving, especially since her epilepsy makes it difficult for her to work for any length of time in the forgeries near the fires.

Allison strides to them, a present cradled in her hands and Lydia right behind her. It's in a clothes box and Stiles looks confused when he pulls out a jacket. It's a nice looking winter jacket, a deep navy blue color and a bit thick looking, like you could wear it through the winter. Instead of buttons it has toggle fastenings, the walrus teeth shaped hooks are probably plastic but are such a white as to look like bones.

"Try it on." she demands, opening the coat so Stiles can reluctantly slip his arms in. She hums and tilts her head, "It's from me and Lydia."

Lydia furrows her brow as she circles Stiles, "I wanted it to be black but this was the closest I could find."

The coat is stiff because of it's novelty, but it works well for Stiles well. Derek suspects that Jackson helped pick it out, if _just_ because he's standing to the side trying to not look interested.

"Why a jacket?" Stiles asks, "It doesn't exactly get _cold_ here."

Allison smiles a devilish smile, "Well, -"

"Mom wants you to come over for Christmas. Allison and her dad are coming too." Scott interrupts, looking like he was about to burst with the news.

Stiles mouth opens and he blinks and blinks again, eyes starting to water before he blinks it away too, "What is up with you guys always springing this stuff on me?" he says laughingly and rubbing his eyes.

Jackson makes a disgusted face and rolls his eyes. Lydia gives Jackson her bitch face and Allison laughs at them with Stiles. Things devolve from there as Lydia gives Stiles one last happy birthday cheek kiss before leaving with Jackson in tow - probably to whatever Jackson was ditching since Derek has it on good authority that he does _not_ have a free block right now. Most likely to go help with the strawberries like what Derek just came back from.

Derek builds up the nerve and finally makes his way over when he sees Scott and Allison become blinded by each other. He must interrupt it because he feels Scott's familiar, wary glare on him like fire, but now, right now that he's at this point he can't look away from Stiles.

Taking a deep breath he stares at Stiles.

Stiles stares back. Then he blinks and opens his mouth to say something but Derek beats him to it.

"Will - will you come with me?" he asks gently, taking one of Stiles hands in his and smoothing at it, two of his fingers automatically placing themselves around the boy's wrists, a trick his mother had taught him and his siblings.

Stiles pulse jumps and he flushes but nods and smiles shyly.

Derek glances at Scott and Allison and his brother looks _angry._ It's kind of hilarious because his tanned face is turning red, his jaw locks, and he _glowers._ Derek really can't help the smirk that grows on his face as he leads Stiles away.


	5. Chapter 5

They're heading to the Ares cabin that looks suspiciously deserted and _really_ \- why does Stiles continue to follow gorgeous men with serial killer faces? He was going to be _murdered._ On his _birthday._

The Ares cabin is _very_ intimidating, too. Murals depicting bloody, battle scenes line the walls like the children who live there want you to know all the options there are to _kill_ you. Weapons, _famous_ weapons are mounted, ready at a moments notice to be used to flay, maim, stab and or kill anyone in the nearby vicinity.

There's one picture that always grabs his attention, it's of Cerberus, guard dog of the underworld. In the painting all three of the heads are depicted salivating, and under one giant paw lies a body. Blood runs from the maw of the middle head and the entrance to Hades' kingdom stretches open as a big black hole.

His attention shifts back to Derek easily as he slides a chest out from under the bed. There are wolves carved into the dark wood, intricate rounded shapes that flow into one another, interrupted only by a charred, flaking portion. It's like a scar.

Derek runs his hands gently over the wolves but his fingers scrape the burns, leaving black ash under his fingernails.

They _are_ scars, he realizes.

The son of Ares opens the chest and pulls out a box and then a plastic tupperware filled with strawberries.

" _Dude,_ did you steal those from Dionysus' fields?" Stiles asks, moving in to Derek's personal space to look at the prize.

Derek smiles, wide and toothy like a child who knows they just got away with something sneaky. He pops open the tupperware and the smell that wafts from the is absolutely, _heavenly._

"I had Isaac help." he says simply, like him and his friend who's the son of the god of thievery just _stole_ from _another_ god on a daily bases.

Stiles throw his head back and laughs because this - _this,_ is amazing. The second year Stiles had been at camp, a daughter of Hephaestus had been caught sneaking out strawberries and had been forced to clean the stables for the _rest_ of the summer. The threat looms like the promise of a stomach ache after too many sweets. Or the promise of a hangover if you really wanted a dig at Dionysus.

Derek's smile turns a bit sharp as he picks one of the amazingly plump berries and after a moment of hesitation eats most of it in one bite. He closes his eyes and _moans._

Which does not make Stiles' throat dry in desire just as much as the strawberries. Nope, not at _all_.

"Do you know how much trouble you be in if he finds out?" Stiles asks absently as he reaches out to grab one. Or two. Or three.

Derek smirks the smirk of someone with a _really_ bad pun on their mind.

"I think you'd be caught red-handed too." he says, looking for all the world like he'll bust out laughing any second at just how _horrible_ that pun was.

Stiles makes a face as he bites into a berry as close to the annoying leafy part as possible, "Dude," he says around a mouthful of sweet meat and juices, "that was so terrible I can't even _explain_ how terrible it is."

Derek shakes his head, his sharply angled nose like an arrow on a compass. He perks suddenly like a thought crossed his mind and he hands the small untaped cardboard box to Stiles. Stiles peers at it and wipes the little water droplets on his shirt.

It's not too heavy and he can hear pieces move as he shakes it gently. Ceramic or glass or _something_ and all Stiles can think about is how strange it is that Derek got him a gift at all. He's not sure what to expect as he opens the flaps.

It's a chess board, the kind that can fold up and close. It's not terribly nice or obviously expensive but it makes something well up in Stiles.

Derek is looking into his face expectantly and Stiles shakes himself from the heavy feelings.

"I noticed that you were good - really good with battle strategy." He says in that terrible tender voice.

Stiles nods absently and runs his hands along the board. There's one long scratch surrounded by a few smaller scratches. Well used and probably loved by the way it seems to have been painted over. It holds sentimental value to Derek. Stiles can almost feel it underneath his palm.

He doesn't question though, just smiles appreciatively at Derek and spreads it out, letting the ceramic roll to the ground. His fingers reach out to claim another delicious, Dionysus special strawberry in the name of Stiles' gut.

"Do you play?"

From Derek's fiery grin he _does_ play. Probably well, too.

Derek seems like the type of person who researches battle strategies religiously in his free time. When he wasn't stealing from the gods, of course.

Well, Stiles had learned from the best.

Challenge accepted.


	6. Chapter 6

It was fun playing chess with Derek. They laughed and talked as pawn overtook pawn and the kings stood, guarded.

"Hm, do you think your Mother is Athena?" Derek asks as Stiles checkmates him in an overly complicated move.

Stiles looks up at him sharply, "How did you -?"

Derek looks down sheepishly, "I, uh - well you looked so upset, when you ran into me that - uh - I confronted Jackson. About it."

Stiles smiles half-heartedly, "Oh, uh, thanks. I guess."

Derek smiles a relieved smile back.

Stiles bites his lip, "But, no. I don't think it's Athena although that seems to be the popular vote."

"I wasn't actually that great at chess. When I first started I was horrible." Stiles says, "But... My dad played, so you know. He taught me and I guess it stuck."

Derek has this constipated look on his face, like he's trying to process the fact that Stiles is talking about his dad. Stiles wonder if he knows that he's one of the year-long campers.

"I'm sure he was a good man." He says with a gentle look on his face.

Stiles nods, "The best." He says with a crooked smile.

 

Derek regrets bringing it up. The parentage of demigods can be a sensitive matter.

He just wasn't thinking about how Stiles was a yearlong camper. His father's probably dead.

Derek understands the feeling as he watches Stiles become closed to him, like a curtain is drawing shut in his eyes.

He clears his throat and starts picking up the game pieces, "I think it's almost time for dinner." Derek says gently.

Stiles nods absently.

 

Stiles felt strange. The usual overwhelming sadness that surrounds his parents built up in his chest and pressed against his throat and eyes, wanting to be released in tears and sobs. But there was something more, something _different_ and powerful that drew on the want for his parents. To see their faces, to have his mother's familiar soothing touches and his father's sturdy strength and kindness. It made them seem tangible, like they were just waiting for him to come to dinner, or for the summer to be over so he could come home like so many other kids.

He walked in a daze with Derek to the mess hall, Derek's worried gaze sliding over his sense like wind shear. There was something waiting for him, he could feel it in the pit of his stomach.

The pavilion stretched out and the chaos of so many half-bloods caused a ruckus, loud and cacophonous. Stiles didn't have time for this. They were waiting for him, like a flower drawing in flies before it's revealed to be a venus flytrap.

Red tresses, that's what he sees first and he doesn't mistake the hair for Lydia's.

Not even for a second.

 

A part of the Hermes table goes quiet before an uproar starts. People scream and Derek runs forward. Absently he notices Scott running from the Ares table.

Derek stops short when two broken faces turn to him.

They're wisps of people. Not real and he thinks they'll flicker out of existence if he blinks.

What is real though, is the grotesqueness of their image. The way their phantom bodies are broken and bent and the way their faces are sunken in.

They let out an unholy, guttural moan and turn towards Derek. The pair rush at him and then go right through him.

Derek shivers and feels like screaming because _something hit the car and his body is broken and there's blood and people are screaming and glass cuts into his skin -_

Shaking out of the _moment_ that had been his entire reality for a fraction of a second, he turns to follow their path and watches as they circle Stiles, the only one _not_ screaming and running.

Stiles' staring up at them, a fractured quality in his gaze as he watches them. His face vulnerable and closed off like a book whose cover had been torn off but was still trying to stay shut.

 

They're beautiful. Her hair shines in the sun and his father's eyes are kind. Their broken bodies mean nothing to him and he sinks to the ground as they close in on him.

His mother stops in front of him and his father circles once more before coming to a rest next to her. Their gazes are empty and piercing at the same time, hitting him right in his chest and he chokes on the feeling as they reach out and he -

"Stiles!" a voice screams. _Scott._

He takes a sudden breath in and the wrongness of _everything_ fills him and he wants them to go away.

 _Not like this,_ he thinks, rejecting their spectral faces.

They blink out of existence without hesitation.

Somethings glowing, _brightly_ overhead and he thinks this is it.

He's been claimed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Switchy POV is switchy

Two twin torches.

The symbol that defines him is something as simple as two torches. It seems anti climatic and dazedly Stiles tilts his head. He doesn't even recognize them at first.

Not until someone breathes out, _Hecate._

Hecate.

Her symbol glows black above Stiles head, the twin torches outlined in shining silver.

They light up the tear tracks on his face and Derek wants to do _something_ for him but he can't. He's paralyzed, confusion and adrenaline keeping him taunt in place.

It's like a spell, everybody's frozen until the congregation of people here seem to all breath out the name Hecate.

Stiles runs and Scott follows.

 

"Stiles!"

Stiles looks over to see Scott. They're quietly staring at each other until Scott plops down and pulls Stiles down too. They're in the woods, he notes absently when he sits on the sharp grass. Trunks come in and out of focus like the sky and the ground.

"Your shaking," Scott says, voice achingly soft, "panic attack?"

Stiles shrugs, everything seems to be warped. The trees seem to tower over so sinisterly, the birds seem to be mocking him.

He takes a deep breath and Scott rubs circles into his back.

"Okay, okay. Just breathe."

His senses come back to him, circle by soothing circle. This is eerily familiar and the heavy weight of his emotions bear down on his bones.

Scott sighs and stops rubbing, "Maybe you should sleep."

Stiles nods and lets Scott guides him to the Hermes cabin.

 

Lydia Martin stands on her own, away from the chaos.

She watches Stiles run and Scott follow and Derek watch helplessly.

Her hands tingle, everything feels so unreal. Actually, everything _has_ been unreal. Ever since the pile up that had brought her and Stiles and Scott together, her life has felt like a series of Shakespearean plays.

Tilting her head she decides that this one feels very much like a Midsummer's Night Dream.

Lydia deigns herself in the role of the fairy queen Titiana. She has taken a charge and will do her duty as a banshee for him.

Even while him and Derek run circles around one another in a spiral with one vertex. Of course with the overlapping couple of Scott and Allison and the appearance of the 'fairies' to help and complicate matters.

Yes, very Midsummer's Night Dream indeed.

 

Isaac stalks around him.

Derek doesn't like it. It makes him feel weak, like prey. He curls his lip at the cherubic looking boy.

"I told you Derek. His claiming was foretold by a _banshee._ Even if she owes him a life debt she shouldn't have been able to foretell it." Isaac stops circling, "Banshees call out for death, Derek."

 

Derek is silent, his face strong and stubborn and Isaac is second away from sighing and giving up. He knows his friend, and if he doesn't want to listen he won't.

Then suddenly, Derek looks terribly sad and broken. It makes something wriggle in Isaac's gut because he hates that look on people, when things actually start to hurt and it's not just a game anymore. The fact that he put it there make's it worse.

Derek's sharp gaze pierces him and he leans forward.

"What does it mean then?" Derek asks, sounding horribly lost.

Isaac shakes his curly blond head.

"I don't know, Derek." He says honestly, "But whatever it _is,_ I don't want to be in the middle of it."

Isaac leans in, forcing his expression to be harsh so he can get his point across, "And so far, Stiles is the _crux._ "

 

Scott is pacing outside the Hermes cabin, it's late and he's wondering if the children of the thief will dare come back after what happened at dinner. Holy Hades himself, whatever _did_ happen?

Breathing in he goes over it in his head like a good warrior always should.

The apparitions, the ghosts, the shaky images of Stiles' _parents_ had suddenly appeared at the Hermes table.

The Hermes table. They had appeared right where _Stiles_ usually sat.

"Scott?"

At the sound of _that_ voice Scott's head pops up. Allison is approaching him, looking shaky and trying to hug herself as well as possible.

"Sc-Scott?" She blinks and wraps herself tighter, a scared smile stretching onto her face, "What happened? Cause I - _I don't have any clue._ "

Scott sighs and shakes his head, "Stiles."

Allison bites her lip and nods., "They - _those things -_ went after _him_."

Scott nods, "Ya, and they appeared where he sits."

Allison rocks on the balls of her feet and Scott can practically feel her calming down. She's been like that since he's known her, give her a problem and she'll focus on doing something about it rather than worry herself in indecision and confusion.

Scott looks over at the Hecate cabin, it's empty windows look almost ominous.

"Do you think it has anything to with...?" She trails off, not wanting to evoke the gods in this. They only tended to complicate matters.

Scott narrows his eyes at the cabin, his mouth is set grimly.

"When does it _not?_ " He says ruefully.

Allison shoots him a glare and he shrugs, "What, it's true."

"... I'm worried for him."

 

 

_"On whose eyes I might approve_

_This flower's force in stirring love._

_Night and silence—Who is here?"_

_-_ W. Shakespeare "A Midsummer's Night Dream"


	8. Chapter 8

Derek is sitting with Boyd, a friend of his. They aren’t particularly close but Derek looks out for him and vice versa. And now with him being a child of Athena, Derek really needs his help.

 

“What do you know about Hecate?” He asks.

 

Boyd raises a brow and Derek is seconds away from groaning and telling Boyd to just forget about it. Everybody in Half-Blood camp and their satyr was there to witness Stiles’ claiming, and even if they weren’t, they were surely filled in by the end of the day.

 

Derek is just glad Boyd doesn’t _actually_ say anything about _it_.

 

“Hecate, goddess of magic and crossroads.”

 

"Is that it!" He demands angrily snapping at Boyd like a wolf.

 

Boyd sighs and shakes his head, "There isn't a lot about her, and trust me, I've done my research."

 

Derek raises a prominent brow, tension draining from him.

 

Boyd shrugs again relaxed if not wary as usual, "Look, she's always in the _background_ of mythology. But what I can tell you is that she's powerful and well favored by the other gods.

 

"Strangely it doesn't seem like she has any enemies except if one myth is right, Mother."

 

Boyd scrunches his brow probably why most of the gods seemed to have a thing against Athena. Derek believes that it was because she’s smart and sharp as a sack of tacs you were dared to put your hand in. Also probably because she didn’t put out. Go figure, huh?

 

Boyd returns Derek's intense look, "She rules over the three kingdoms, Derek. She's favored by _Zeus_. Stiles will be very powerful."

 

Zeus doesn’t like _anyone_. Not even his own _wife_.

 

Derek flushes and scowls but doesn't say anything as he stands to leave.

 

"He's dangerous!" Boyd calls out after him in a warning even he knows won’t be heeded.

 

* * *

  
  


"Huh, after the Hermes cabin I guess this is a blessing." Stiles says, smile reflecting how weak the joke was.

 

Scott sighs but grins for his friend's sake.

 

The Hecate cabin was as empty as it had been since it was built years ago. Besides a bed and a nightstand, the only other furniture was a floor to ceiling bookshelf, sparsely filled.

 

Looking at the books he sees that they're all in a variety of languages besides the usual Ancient Greek. And they're old, the newest is maybe from the early 19th century.

 

"... Dude. I think this one was made during the Salem witch trial." He says, plucking a fat tome off the wooden shelf.

 

Scott makes a face and is glad that Stiles can't see it.

 

"It was." A new voice said, sounding stark in the echoing silence of the facility.

 

Scott whips his head around but Stiles doesn't bother looking up.

 

"How do you know?" He inquires, head tilted and lips pulled in a small toothless grin, like he already knew the answer, like he's holding it in his hands and hiding it near his chest, up his sleeves and anywhere that would conceal it.

 

Scott wonders who he's hiding it from.

 

"It feels like death," Lydia says, like it’s a completely normal thing to get a general feeling of mortem off of literature, "this whole cabin has always given off an aura of death."

 

Stiles smirks.

 

"Well no ones lived in it that's for sure." he says crudely, plainly, and absolutely.

 

Lydia quirks a smile. She runs her pale, manicured hand over the black painted walls, heels clicking against the wooden floor and echoing in Scott’s ears.

 

"I hope you plan on repainting," she trills, "Black is a terrible color for walls."

 

"I'll even let you pick out the color." He says dryly, a wicked grin on his face.

  
  


_There's something different about him,_ Scott thinks. His eyes seem to flash between colors and his skin looks pale, his face drawn.

 

But then he'll blink and he'll just be Stiles again.

 

* * *

 

 

_Stiles dreams._

_In his dreams he is in a large enclosed space. Screams soar, barraging his senses like cannons and drumsticks._

_'Where am I?' He wonders._

_Dogs bark, sharp and cracking and rising above the screams._

_"You're not here." A booming voice says._

_The words are nonsense and false because he is there, as there as the smell of crumbling souls and the freezing burn of sin._

_Something circles him and then there is a man. Tall and imposing, he radiates death and calamity behind a suit and the faint smell of cologne._

_Huh, Hades smells like Armani. He'll have to talk to Danny about that._

_But first, he thinks, he should probably address the fact that Death stands before him._

_He goes to kneel, or bow, or at least do something when he's stopped with an amused chuckle and a shark like grin._

_"I've only come to deliver a message." He says, "From your Mother."_

_For a second his heart flutters like it's a bird that's been struck down by one of Apollo's kids, an arrow right through the breast and feathers quivering even as it bleeds. But - no, that's mother with a capital, 'M'._

_"Hecate?" He ask shakily._

_He nods._

_"You have somewhere you need to be." And that's the most vague bullshit Stiles has ever heard in his life but what's even sadder is that you understand the meaning and it burns, it burns so much you wonder if your soul is ashes yet._

  
_You no longer belong in Camp-Half Blood._


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I just want to apologize for taking so long. I've just been going through a really hard time recently and it's just been one shit storm after another. :/ If you're reading this and you still read this then thank you. I really appreciate it.

Stiles sits on the step to his cabin, bag packed with his meager belongings. He's kicking dirt with the toe of his sneaker, watching it swirl in the night air before it settles on the ground, on his shoes, on his clothes.

It's strange - his senses feel sharper in the night. Like the starlight is washing over the world, giving him direction as if it was a lighthouse. Well, he supposes that isn't an inaccurate comparison.

He looks up towards the direction he's supposed to take.

Out of camp.

He's been at Half-Blood for years and leaving - probably to go die on some godly mission - hits him like a semi into a smart car.

His lungs feel compressed and the whole world has a surreal tilt to it. Some part of him wants to go back to bed, like he'll wake up to the calamity that is the Hermes cabin; like he'll go and train with Scott and Allison, even though they were both naturally more skilled than him; like he'll toss pieces of meat at Jackson during meals and pretend it was one of the impish, Hermes kids; like he'll continue to pine helplessly over Lydia and Derek while the Apollo kids sing by the campfire.

Stiles stands.

He'll miss this place - it was the only home he had.

"What're you doing?"

Stiles does  _not_ squeal like a dying pig. He does  _not_ fall over himself like a house of cards collapsing in on itself.

_And_ if he  _did_ it was all Derek's fault.

What was the war child even doing here?

 

Derek Hale could not sleep.

At all.

Thoughts of Stiles and Boyd's warning clouded his head like a smokescreen. He thinks of Stiles in a cabin all by his lonesome. He thinks of goddesses crumbling the almighty Zeus. He thinks of the stars and pathways and  _Stiles and regret and fire._

It gets so bad that he can't sleep under the disturbing images of his father's domain. Blood and murder and his stomach churns and churns and churns. Those weapons set up as trophies, killed countless people, murdered and murdered and murdered in the hands of someone who happily gave into the blood lust. Why else would it be hung up in  _this_ cabin?

Derek gets up to clear his head.

Instead he finds the source to a fair majority of his problems.

_Stiles._

Stiles stares at the intimidating bulk of a man. He has broad muscular shoulders and angry eyebrows. Stiles is pretty sure Derek wouldn't be half as intimidating if it wasn't for his eyebrows. They must be the source of his amazingness. Maybe that's why trying to hide his pack from the eyes of the warrior doesn't work to any degree.

Derek's eyes melt into a sad expression, "Stiles, what  _are_ you doing?

Stiles looks down.

" _Stiles!"_

"I'm leaving."

Stiles doesn't want to, but he glances up. He can't help but to stare at Derek's face and how utterly shocked he is. He feels like he's kicked a puppy, a very loyal puppy who would probably sit at it's master's grave for the rest of it's life. Stiles looks away, his stomach like a lead balloon.

"You're leaving?" he asks in a quiet voice.

Stiles sighs, "I've been called for a quest."

The weak half-blood stares emptily into Derek's eyes, "My Mother is calling."

Derek nods and they stare at each other in silence before Derek turns to trek back to his cabin.

"Where are you  _going?"_  Stiles hisses, standing up like he could actually stop Derek if the boy decided to wake Scott or Dionysus to keep him here. The thought of being forced to stay here riles him up. It makes him scared and angry and he's seconds from saying something biting and mean to the Ares child.

Derek doesn't even look back at him.

"I'm coming with you," he says nonchalantly, casually, like he was just saying a 'see you later'.

"Oh," Stiles replies dumbly, "Okay."

 

"Oh no."

Lydia Martin, Camp-Half Blood's resident banshee is standing in front of Stiles. Her figure is intimidating despite the fact that she's smaller than him. She makes his instincts go wild and he secretly feels like quaking in her presence, as if he was the rabbit to her wolf.

The worst part was Derek was sure she knew that. 

Stiles leans back and Derek is slightly resentful of how at ease he is. Even more though, he wants to pull Stiles behind him and growl and fight and make sure they're out of the banshees reach. She's not a half-blood, she was a monster. He wasn't sure if she would die like them or regenerate.

How human was she? How supernatural was she?

Lydia give him an airy but knowing look. It infuriates him but really she looks at everybody that way - except Stiles and Jackson. Jackson, gets an adored look and Stiles gets an intense look, like she's hanging onto every word.

"I'm going," she says in a tone that leaves no room for argument.

Derek  _would_ argue but the withering look from Lydia and the almost happy one from Stiles makes him hold his tongue. He also knows how important the banshee is to Stiles. He hadn't gotten to camp until after, but he's not deaf. He heard all about how Stiles had helped lead his merry little group to the camp, sure he wasn't much of a fighter but while the other's had been breaking down he had forged on.

He crosses his arms, huffs and puffs, but doesn't say a word. Derek wonders if his face is as red as he thinks it is, because his chest cavity feels warm and fuzzy and his heart gives an extra beat in adoration to the brave little half-blood. He knows they were young, he knows that's probably when Stiles lost his parents and when his whole world came crashing down around his ears like a sand-castle - something that as beautiful as it is, was never meant to last long.

Derek's heart bleeds in understanding for his fellow halfblood and he feels himself tense and become cotton mouthed and lead tongue over the overwhelming emotional out pour.

Lydia gives him another, infuriatingly knowing look.

Derek doesn't hesitate to scowl at her.

 


	10. Chapter 10

It starts like this.

A few children claim to have seen a boy with goat legs walking down the street. They’re parents hardly pay attention and pull them along. It’s no big deal, children have wild imaginations.

Then a priest in Michigan claims to see a demon in a lake. He says she peered up at him though the water and that he had shivers at the unnatural sickly nature of her skin and the filmy layer over her eyes. It makes the local news and a few crackpot websites but nothing more.

No one really pays attention until things like this - that is sights of the ‘unnatural’ - start cropping up more and more. A group of hikers claim to see a woman being absorbed into a tree; a group of survivors from a shipwreck swear that there were mermaids; a woman starts telling the story of how she saw a unicorn with a group of deer in her yard. The mythological world starts unraveling in the real one.

Scott had woken up that morning with the feeling that something was terribly wrong. The feeling carried with him and it keeps bubbling more and more until he finds himself jogging to Hecate’s small cabin.

“Stiles?” He calls out as he barges through the door.

He marches in and that feeling intensifies, sharpening like a knife point to the throat.

“Stiles!”

He tears the sheets off the bed and then storms out when he finds nothing there. The pavilion with the picnic tables seems to loom too far away and he feels short of breath when he reaches it.

Hecate’s table is empty.

Stiles could be anywhere in camp but somehow, he knows he isn't.

“Scott.”

Scott doesn’t look at the girl standing behind him as he stuffs clothes into a duffel. He has to do this.

“Scott, look at me.”

He can’t, can’t stop, can’t look at her, can’t pause because if he does he’ll break. Why did Stiles have to leave him?

“Scott, please.”

They were supposed to be brothers. Sure, in the back of his mind he knew that he had been pushing him away for Allison but that’s just because he had never felt that way before.

“Scott!”

Scott’s hands are shaking as he drops the bag he had been trying to pack. It’s contents fall haphazardly out of the bag. His vision is blurry and something drips to the floor.

Is he crying?

As he goes to wipe away the tears slender hands grasp his and cradle it. He doesn’t want to look up, doesn’t want to cry in front of her.

“Hey,” she says softly, “It’ll be okay.”

He clings to that promise, as hopeless as it feels. He looks up and he sees Allison and she’s like looking at a star when the night had been so bleak and dark.

Making sure to keep one hand holding his, she squats and picks up his bag, placing it on the bed.

“Keep packing," she whispers gently, "We’ll go after him together.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

Their heads snap to the doorway of the Ares cabin to see a centaur standing just out of the threshold. For a man with hooves he was strangely adept at walking quietly.

“Both of you please come with me,” he says before turning to leave.

The two lovers look at each other before slowly following.

 

They're in his office, feeling like school children about to be reprimanded by the principal. Chiron looks sad and tired and uncomfortable.

"I'm afraid something's happening," he begins.

Scott blinks and Allison's lips go taunt.

"Do you mean the strange things that have been happening?" She asks, "Like ordinary people seeing monsters?"

Chiron sighs and nods, "Dionysus and I have spoken with the gods and they've directed us to a source."

He turns to Scott. The Ares child breathed in sharply, eyes wide.

"You don't mean?"

Chiron smiles ruefully at them, "Unfortunately, I do."

 

Allison and Scott sneak off after grabbing some food and sacrificing a portion of their chicken pot pie to the gods. They eat quietly, taking comfort in their closeness and the peace of a starry night.

Footsteps alert them to someone approaching and they look up but don't bother to say anything.

Jackson, though, has no qualms about that.

"I heard the two of you were going on a quest."

Allison doesn't bother to respond but Scott glares at him, "So? It doesn't have anything to do with you."

Jackson scowls, arms crossed, "I want in."

Allison blinks doefully and Scott's eyes widen in surprise.

"Why?" He asks quietly.

Jackson sneers at them, "Stiles isn't the only one to have gone missing, but it's no surprise to me that you can't get your head out of his ass long enough to notice."

Scott scowls at him, taken aback by his vulgar language, "What are you talking about?"

"Oh right, I almost forgot. It's a wonder that you noticed Stilinski was gone at all considering that you haven't given him a second thought once Argent came into the picture."

Scott stands, shoulders squared, "Why should I let you of all people join us on the quest?"

Jackson squares his shoulders too before he just sort of deflates like a balloon with a hole in it, "Lydia's gone too."

Scott freezes and Allison stands behind him.

"What?" She exclaims.

Jackson sighs and looks dejectedly to the side, "I think she went with Stilinski," he says quietly.

Scott runs a hand through his hair and Allison is looking down at the ground.

"You really care about her a lot, huh?" Allison asks in that soft voice of hers.

Jackson nods.

Scott gives pleasing eyes to Allison but she only glares softly at him. Honestly, Scott understood where the guy was coming from. He would follow Allison to the Underworld and back. Still, this was the guy that picked on him and Stiles since the moment they walked into camp.

Allison glares harder at him.

Scott sighs, "Fine. You can come."

Jackson perks up.

"We leave tomorrow."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What. A wild chapter appears!

Derek isn't sure what happened. For the longest time they had been splayed out in a Greyhound bus, taking a ride from the Camp to as far west as they could go - then as soon as they had gotten off the bus to get something to eat they had been attacked.

Derek had pulled his sword out and slashed at the monster, his sword catching the arm of the beast, gold blood spraying in a grotesque arch. That's when Derek truly got a good look at the beast. It's body was disgusting - the skin seemed twisted in places. One arm was cut to the white bone, gold blood spilling out to trail the ground. It's face was warped to the point where any features were unrecognizable.

The thing grunted and charged at him. Derek’s sword was at the ready to block any attacks -

-when the thing just -

burst into flames. The smell of burning skin hit him. The thing screamed in pain. Its body became even more grotesque as the skin warped further and began to bubble. The flames suddenly intensified and the creature burst into a shower of gold dust and ashes.

Suddenly a streak of red hair runs past Derek.

"Stiles!" Lydia called.

Derek looked at the Hecate child. His skin was pale and blood dripped eerily down his nose. Derek slowly sheathed his sword and approached the boy.

Lydia was fussing over him, picking at his clothes and looking over him, "You weren't ready," she states, almost angrily.

Stiles blinks and smiles, blood stains his teeth and drips down his chin.

Derek wipes it away.

"You have to be careful," he says sternly, hand gently caressing the other boys face.

Stiles starts shaking, "But I killed it," he says so quietly, "I didn't need a sword to kill it."

War sings in Derek's blood and he shivers in excitement.

* * *

 

They camp out some nights, when the sky is clear, promising no rain and when they're not riding a bus to who knows where. Stiles prefers it actually, says he sees stories and maps in the stars.

"You know," he says one night, "what we're doing is only in preparation for the real heros."

Derek rolls so he faces Stiles, Lydia sleeping on the other side of the Hecate boy, "I never thought I was a hero," he says, voice thick with sleep.

Stiles smiles softly and closes his eyes.

* * *

 

Derek has lost track of how long they've been gone but when they end up in California he knows they're close.

"I can smell war," he says, the feeling arousing shivers of excitement and adrenaline pumps minutely in his veins.

Lydia throws her head back and laughs because she can feel it too, death sings in her veins.

Stiles closes his eyes and prays.

"Welcome to Beacon Hills," he says, eyes still shut.

* * *

 

"Beacon Hills," Scott says, "is not just a name. There's something there that attracts magic - god and monster alike."

They're hiking to the town, about a mile or two from where the flying chariot had dropped them off. The woods are thick and the smell of magic shifts though the air.

“Me, Stiles, and Lydia were all born here. For a small town that means something,” Scott closes his eyes, “there are also a lot of - monsters.”

Jackson rolls his eyes, “Yeah, you’ve said that already.”

Scott is quiet.

“My father doesn’t live very far from here. He hunts monsters," Allison says, matter of fact.

Jackson turns to her.

She looks away, “He can see through the mist.”

“But you’re a child of Apollo.”

Allison blushes.

“... I’ll call him,” she says instead of acknowledging Jackson's usually assery, stopping to pull out a cellphone.

Scott glares at Jackson as Allison walks away to turn it on and call.

“What?”

Scott doesn’t say anything, just sighs and shakes his head.

Jackson rolls his eyes.

Allison rejoins them, “He’ll be here tomorrow.”

Scott nods, “C’mon guys.”

* * *

Stiles leads them to a hotel, glad that Lydia's parents are not only rich enough to fund this trip but understanding enough to give them a place to stay. Ms. Martin sets the table and Stiles can feel the magic bubbling under her skin and every now and then the light catches her eyes and magic reflects back. Her husband rolls in from the kitchen, salad bowl in his lap. **  
**

A full banshee like Ms. Martin healed when the monsters ripped her apart trying to get to her daughter. Stiles tries his best not to look at Mr. Martin's prosthetic legs.

"Thank you," he whispers feeling embarrassed and guilty at their adoring and thankful looks, "For the meal."

"Anything for you Stiles," Mrs. Martin said.

No. He loves the Martins but the way they treat him for saving their daughter was too much. He had helped her, the same way he had helped Scott and Allison. They were the ones that had saved her though, at the price Mr. Martin’s legs and Mrs. Martin’s scars.

Stiles blinks sadly and goes to pick up his fork, his hand stopping and hovering as he feels magic pass the barrier.

"They're here."


End file.
